


The Monster

by sass_bot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sass_bot/pseuds/sass_bot
Summary: He wonders what monsters are hiding on the backs of her eyelids, that they have the privilege of visiting her in the Fade and would waste it by drawing screams from her lips when they could be drawing melodic laughter.[Originally posted on tumblr 25.04.2019]





	The Monster

A moonlit sky looms over the Architect, gazing curiously at him through the canopy of trees. A breeze brushes up against him, wrapping its chilling tendrils around his arms and legs, underneath his robes and down into his boots. Only in the Fade does his mind conjure up such sensations. They are the last remaining echoes of a life he can never return to—a nostalgia he has stolen from a man that has been dead for an eternity and a half.**  
**

He’s brought out of his dreamlike contemplation by the sound of footsteps slapping against the dirt and a Dalish elf so small she could very well have been made up of two twigs and an unkempt mop of hair in a loose braid. She runs past him, her legs beating against the ground with such force that he’s surprised she’s managed to get this far without shattering all her tiny bones.

Instinctively, he turns in the opposite direction to witness a small pack of mabari hounds bound past, followed by a human warrior, breathing heavily like a feral beast. The man doesn’t give him a second glance—the elf girl seems to be his prey.

It occurs to the Architect that he may be intruding upon another’s dream—a nightmare perhaps. He waves a hand over in the direction of the human, effortlessly capturing him in a crushing prison. He watches the man writhe in his grasp before perishing.

In a prying mood, he allows himself to give chase to the hounds, trying to reach them before they reach the girl. He manages to catch two out of three with a well placed ice mine; the third proves to be more challenging. It’s managed to get quite far ahead, likely very close to the girl. In spite of himself, he feels anxiety grip his heart.

The forest seems to go on forever—or maybe that’s just the Fade playing into his fears. He doesn’t want to imagine anything. He forces himself to visualize the child alive and well just beyond the trees, lying untouched in a plain.

Images melt into one another before his eyes as he finds himself running as fast as he can, his lungs aching like he’s alive again. He’s painfully aware of the sound of his breath coming out in quick gasps.

He stumbles, dazed and confused into a room—with round, stone walls and a roof over his head. It’s old architecture, not as old as he is, but certainly not contemporary. The room is bare save for a cracked mirror against the far wall and the torches lining the walls.

“Anya,” he utters, out of breath and without even thinking.

She’s no longer a child, but a fully grown woman, shivering in a simple blouse and linen trousers. Her braid is half undone, leaving large strands to curl every which way down her back. She doesn’t pay him any mind, her eyes seemingly fixed on one point in the mirror.

The Architect steps towards her and the mirror, observing a face that is not his own on the other side. It is a man he recognizes, if only vaguely. He’s not a young man, but his face is still smooth. His lips are downturned in shock and awe. Without thinking, he raises a single hand and slides it down the skin of his cheek, brushing through stubble and sweat.

He doesn’t realize that Anya has been gazing at his reflection expectantly. “Who are you?” she half-whispers. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t even know what to say. His mouth flaps like a fish out of water and the only words he can think to say were “I killed the hunter. The one who had been chasing you.”

“Why? He’s not real,” she tells him matter-of-factly, pulling her knees up to her chin and burying her cheek in her arms.

The Architect nearly forgets how to walk in his human legs as he stumbles forward and kneels beside her. “I couldn’t watch. I didn’t want to.” His voice sounds different—gruffer and more solid—no longer a ghostly projection of what it once was.

Her catlike eyes narrow as they focus on his face, making him scrunch his nose self-consciously. “What’s your name?”

He misses a beat before answering her. He must have looked so foolish to her, forgetting his own name. “Leon.” It’s probably not his real name, but it’s the first thing that pops into his head, so that must mean something.

“Leon,” she repeats, curling her tongue in a manner that makes his cheeks red, and he begins to wish that it were his real name. She then turns her head away and looks her reflection in the eye. “Leon. Do you ever get lonely?”

“Lonely?” He’s taken aback by the turn the conversation has taken, but manages to get a half-formed answer out of his mouth. “I suppose. I do. More than I should admit.”

“Will you keep me company then?” she asks, sounding more sincere than he’s ever heard her. “Until the nightmare is over?”

He feels a tightness in his chest and a scurrying in his gut. He feels alive and it’s disgusting. “Yes,” he replies, before doubt can make him say otherwise. “Yes, of course I will.”

He tries to look at her again, to trace the curve of her nose with his eyes, the ridge of her jaw—to count the freckles on her face, but just as her face comes into focus, his vision begins to blur and darkness begins to take over. He wants to protest but can’t even open his mouth to try. He feels like he’s slipped into quicksand with nothing to hold onto.

When his vision returns, he’s greeted by the stalactites on the cavern ceiling above him and the sound of water droplets hitting the cave floor and broadcasting the splash through the deep roads tunnels. He lets out a shuddering gasp and clutches at his chest with a familiar clawed hand.

Through the sound of his own breathing, he hears the pitter patter of boots coming towards him. He jolts upwards off of the cave floor.

“Anya,” he says breathlessly, her name sliding easily off his tongue. “Did you need something?” As the words leave his mouth, he catches the redness of her eyes and the pout of her lips through the darkness. “Are you… well?”

She approaches him quietly and decisively. He can’t even tell if she means to speak to him or murder him.

Just as he is beginning to doubt himself, she drops to the ground beside him. “You promised.”

His heart leaps into his throat. “But I’m a… I’m not…” he sputters uselessly, gesturing vaguely to the deformities the taint had carved into his face.

“Do I look like I care?” She inches closer and buries her head just above his clavicle and he nearly loses his senses at the scent of her hair assaulting his nostrils all at once. It’s almost enough to wake something that has been dormant inside of him for centuries. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

He sighs and reluctantly wraps an arm around her, bringing her closer to him. To his relief, she doesn’t attempt to recoil in disgust. His old decrepit heart beats faster against his throat.

When she settles like a fussy kitten against his chest, he allows himself to lean back and relax against the stone. The night is far from over and he lets the sound of her breathing drown out the ambient noise of the deep roads. He lets the experience of her wrap around him like a blanket—her softness, her scent, her warmth.

He doesn’t know how much of her is truly with him and how much of her is still in the Fade tripping over tree branches and watching shadows dance around her like shades. Still he yields to her as she drags him down into the still void of sleep, holding him like a shield between her and her demons. And he’ll kill that hunter one thousand times over just to see the sly tilt of her lips when she says his name.


End file.
